


Lost Skeleton

by DwarvenBeardSpores



Category: The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra (2001), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Aliens, B-Movies, Cabins, Canonical Character Death, Cecil as Narrator, Cheap Special Effects, Episode Style, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Science, Secret Identity, Skeletons, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Weather, Years in the making, a cast of thousands - Freeform, a cost of millions, dance, in the world's most scenic locations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:39:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwarvenBeardSpores/pseuds/DwarvenBeardSpores
Summary: Cecil does not leave Night Vale often, if at all. But he is a scientist’s boyfriend, the boyfriend of a scientist, and when Carlos discovers a meteor that contains that rarest of all elements, Atmospherium, Cecil leaves town to help him investigate. He has planned ahead and brought his Portable Radio Broadcasting Kit, but he is not prepared for the other beings who also want Atmospherium: interrupters, aliens, a mutant, and perhaps even the Lost Skeleton of Cadavra himself.They don’t know the Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. But they will. Theywill.





	1. Lost Skeleton Part A

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, it’s your folk, back at it again with another incredibly niche, _incredibly _self-indulgent crossover.__
> 
> __This is, in structure and length, a two-part Night Vale episode. The plot is taken from The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. If you’re here for one fandom or the other, there may be things you miss, or things that don’t make sense, but I hope you enjoy it anyway._ _
> 
> __EDIT: Apparently it is still a fun read when you only know one of the source materials, thank you to the folks who confirmed this._ _
> 
> __If you haven’t seen The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, it’s a B-movie spoof that hits all the nails on all the heads. It also features a scientist, Dr. Paul Armstrong, whose attitude towards science reminds me of Carlos and his perfect hair._ _
> 
> __If you haven’t listened to Night Vale, it’s the community news of a small and unsettling desert town. It also features a radio host, Cecil Palmer, whose attitude toward the unknown is an interesting contrast to our favorite housewife, Betty Armstrong._ _
> 
> __Enjoy the story, my friends._ _

“Skeletons. Sometimes they are inside your body. Sometimes they are outside your body. Sometimes they are lost. Don't go looking for them.”

Welcome to...Somewhere.

_[Static]_

Look, I know what you're all thinking. "Cecil, the town's name, until such time as it is altered by the City Council or beings wearing Soft Meat Crowns, is Night Vale! You know this! You live here with us!" And this is true, Listeners, but also not true. For once, I am not in Night Vale. I have left the familiar desert town that is my home and am driving through unfamiliar terrain. I know. I can hardly believe it myself.

But even though I'm not in my studio right now, I am still committed to bringing you Community Radio. That's why I have my Portable Radio Broadcasting Kit with me, and that's why I'm speaking to you now. Also, I almost had a panic attack a few minutes ago when I realized I would miss my regular show. I hope you can all hear me, and that my broadcasts are coming in at the correct time... I don't know what time it is in Night Vale. I don't know how long it will take this broadcast to reach you. I don't know if it will reach you at all. Time is weird. Distance is weird. Time and distance together are almost impossible to comprehend.

Oh well.

Normally, I'd start off with an update about events happening in our community. However I'm far away, and it's... so strange. There are no reports on my desk, no interns, no telepathic hummings in my mind, no messages from the strangely organic implant station management embedded behind my left ear. It's... Lonely. Quiet. In a way I never knew quiet could be.

So, instead of telling you about the news, let me tell you about where I am.

I'm in a car, a grey car, driving through an endless and impossibly green forest. It’s beautiful scenery, if you like scenery. Instead of the familiar dry sands and occasional cactus of the desert, I am surrounded by trees that rise into the air and block out the sky, their thick, menacing leaves a poor imitation of the oppressive yet comforting government surveillance in our little town. Strange noises echo through the gnarled tree trunks, and entire rivers of water cut bloody stripes across our path.

It's... terrifying, Night Vale. I am terrified. But I am also content. Terrified and content, because I am not alone. In the car next to me, one hand on the steering wheel and the other laced in mine, is Carlos. Beautiful, perfect, boyfriend, Carlos. Carlos is the reason for this whole trip. He is a scientist, and scientists sometimes have to travel. And I am a scientist's boyfriend, the boyfriend of a scientist. So when Carlos wants to do dangerous things like go looking for rocks, I will go with him.

Since he's sitting here right next to me, I'll let him tell you about what we're doing. Carlos?

_"Hi Night Vale. It's me, Carlos. A few days ago, my scientific observations revealed a fantastic meteor shower in this exact forest. And, I know, meteors are not usually scientifically interesting, but these meteors are. My calculations show that they contain traces of that rarest of all elements: Atmospherium. Atmospherium is is amazing. For example: there is enough power in one teaspoon of Atmospherium to go to the moon and back six times.”_

If you believe in the moon, that is.

“ _Exactly._ _Do you know what Atmospherium could mean for science? It could mean actual advances in the field of science._

_Anyway, as a scientist, it's my job to go and study important things, like meteors containing Atmospherium. And, as a boyfriend, it's my job to spend time with Cecil. So that's what we're doing! We're going to find some Atmospherium and study it. Scientifically. Together."_

Thank you, Carlos! Listeners, isn't Carlos just so neat?

Say, Carlos. We’ve been driving for a while. How much farther do we have to go before we get to that meteor?

 _"Well, before we get to the meteor, we're going to stop at a cabin. I've rented it from some people called the Taylors. I haven't seen it yet, but they've assured me that it would be a good place to do science. We should be getting pretty close... Say, there's a farmer by the side of the road. Let's ask him for directions._ "

Oh. Okay. Um, Listeners? I think we're going to _approach_ a _stranger._ I... I pray it goes well.

_"It'll be okay, Cecil, I promise. There are no laws against asking for directions in this part of the country."_

Okay. Listeners, I do not trust this strange farmer, this farmer who is _not_ John Peters. But I do trust Carlos. And if Carlos says it's all right...

_[Static]_

Listeners? Hello? I'm back. And I have good news. The farmer was not dangerous! He was just strange and menacing, the way most people are strange and menacing. He gave us some really good directions. We’re coming up to a place called Dead Man's Curve, and a fence called the Devil's Fence. After that, we're going to walk through The Cathedral of Lost Soap and Forgetful Milkman's Quadrangle, and down The Path of Staring Skulls. You know, so many places outside of Night Vale have strange and disturbing names, like _Chicago_ and _Nevada_. Ugh! But hearing this farmer talk, I felt right at home.

The farmer also mentioned a local legend about something called “the Lost Skeleton of Cadavra.” When Carlos asked for details, the farmer tiled his head back and laughed. Carlos laughed too, and so did I.

But as we drove away, all three of us dropped the facade of humor. Our faces became stony, mouths drawn downward by the weight of information it would be better not to know. For a moment, all we could hear was the echo of our laughter, mocking us, from the trees.

So that's pretty homey as well.

Anyway, we just reached the Devil's Fence, and have to go on foot from here. This is normally where I'd cut to a prerecorded message, but I haven't actually prerecorded any of them, so I'm just going to put my Portable Radio Broadcasting Kit away until we get to the cabin.

_[Static]_

Listeners... we made it. Barely. The trek was long, through strangely solid terrain covered in thick, grasping foliage, and the air was oppressively humid. My tired legs ceased being legs at all, instead seeming nothing more than two heavy slow things. I began to despair that I'd collapse and waste away right there, in the Cathedral of Lost Soap.

Luckily, our spirits were lifted by the appearance of some small woodland creatures. Carlos called them squirrels, but... let's just say I've never seen a squirrel that looked like _that._ Anyway, their hilarious antics revived us, and before we knew it we’d arrived.

At the _cabin._

Listeners, I have never been in a cabin before. A cabin, it turns out, is similar to a house, minus a few of the conveniences that we take for granted, such as bloodstone circles, internet access, surveillance cameras, and ancient and complex star charts of unknown galaxies carved into the toilet seat. It is secluded in the woods, where no one can hear you scream. No one can hear you plead for mercy. No one can hear you as you dissolve into dust, disperse across the mantle, and sob, inaudibly, as you attempt to obscure the relics that remind you of your past.

It's really wonderful, isn't it Carlos?

Carlos?

Carlos, what's the matter?

_"Oh, I don't know. It's just... as a scientist, I wish I could appreciate more things. Like cabins, or bicycles."_

Oh. Are you not enjoying this cabin?

_"I mean, I'm pretty sure it's a nice cabin. But it's not very scientifically interesting. Like bicycles. Bicycles are not scientifically interesting either. And lots of people think cabins and bicycles are really neat, but... I sometimes feel like I'm missing something."_

Why Carlos. I had no idea you felt this way. Maybe... maybe I could help you learn to appreciate this cabin.

_"Thank you Cecil. I'm sure once we start doing some science in here, the cabin will feel a lot more welcoming."_

That's the spirit! Anyway, listeners, Carlos and I are here, and we're well, and we're going to get settled in. There's- oh, there's a kitchen! I might make dinner while Carlos sets up some of his scientific equipment. I think this could end up being quite cozy.

_[Static]_

Hello, Listeners? I don't know when you're receiving this broadcast-- if indeed you _are_ receiving it-- but for us it is the next afternoon, and I have _news!_ We found a meteor! But let me back up to last night, so you can hear everything that happened.

Carlos and I had a lovely evening in, eating lots of good food, cuddling on the couch, setting up fragile and dangerous lab equipment. It was _lovely_. Oh! And we saw another meteor out our window just after dinner! It screamed across the sky, radiant and fragile, this hunk of rock from impossibly far away. Carlos and I watched, and pressed closer against each other as we did, as though reassuring ourselves of our existence in the face of such vast impermanence. Carlos said it had to be a different meteor, since the one containing Atmospherium had already fallen. Hmm. I wonder.

Perhaps the meteor is also wondering.

We spent this morning wandering the woods. Carlos carried his trusty Atmospherium detector and wore his most adventurous lab coat, and I wore my hiking high-heels and carried my unerring suspicion of all that surrounds me. It was so much fun! Once you got past the strange biome, ominous noises, and unsettlingly lively atmosphere.

For a while we just walked, hoping for something scientific to appear. All of a sudden, the Atmospherium Detector started screeching, as though it was physically in pain. As its shrieking rose in pitch and intensity we realized, with a dawning horror, that we were not moving. We were not approaching the Atmospherium. The Atmospherium was approaching _us._

Just as we began to fear the worst, to fear that a hunk of space rock was to be our doom, the thing retreated. It went back to wherever it had come from, leaving us slightly rattled but mostly unharmed. Carlos says that Atmospherium is not present in detectable quantities in any creature scientifically known to the world, but this one was lousy with it.

Oh well.

The really exciting part is that, a little bit later, we found an actual meteor! It’s about the size of a human lung, and made of rock that smokes and glows. When we got close, the Atmospherium detector went wild, so it’s perfect for science. Carlos carefully picked it up and put it in a scientific box. He said it was sponge-like to the touch.

We carried this rock back through the forest, and listeners, the forest is finally starting to feel like home. I could feel eyes watching us as we walked, and hear the unintelligible whispers of people discussing our whereabouts. I tell you, I walked a little straighter knowing my existence was of interest to _somebody,_ even if I didn’t know who that somebody was.

We’re back at the cabin now, and Carlos is doing science. He’s put the meteor on some of the Taylor’s good china, as scientific procedure dictates, and is staring at it, and going “hmmm” a lot. He’s also got a microscope and some test tubes… I _love_ watching Carlos do science. He’s not even disturbed by my broadcasting in the same room, he’s just _so focused_ on that meteor.

You know, in some ways it’s hard to be a scientist’s boyfriend, the boyfriend of a scientist. But in other ways it’s good. Really good.

_[Static]_

Things are happening in this cabin. Strange things. We have been visited… by _interrupters._ They’re in our living room, _sitting_ on the _couch._ Carlos is making small talk, that is to say, he’s discussing particulate matter with our guests. I have removed myself on the pretense of getting drinks.

And, listeners, I don’t mean to complain about my personal problems, but I had _just_ convinced Carlos to step away from his Atmospherium for a few moments. And I mean, he was still holding a test tube when he started kissing me, so it’s not like it was going to last long _anyway,_ but still. We _were_ interrupted, by footsteps and the sound of voices pleading with our front door.

“Why isn’t it opening, my love?” one cried out, quivering with terror of the unknown.

“This makes no sense, I tell you!” the other voice exclaimed, fear turning into anger over that which he did not understand.

“What’s wrong?” the first voice quavered. “Why doesn’t this entrance open?”

The second voice became desperate, saying “They’ll know. They’ll know everything now!”

“You see?” I said to Carlos. “It’s really _weird_ to have a door that doesn’t open when you bleed.”

(Carlos is under the impression that blood-activated doors are an exclusive feature of Night Vale, but I know better than _that._ And, interrupters though they may be, these strangers certainly proved my point.)

Carlos opened the door, and we stepped outside. I raised my finger and looked around for an appropriate object, prepared to offer the standard Night Vale greeting of shouting “interloper” and waving something dangerous. But a strange animal screeched in the distance, and… then it hit me. I wasn’t at home, or in my studio or in my town. I wasn’t even in the desert. And that meant _I_ was the interloper, just as much as the newcomers, maybe more. I have interloped. And even though this cabin is temporarily under the ownership of my boyfriend, do I have any right to accuse these people of the very same thing I am guilty of?

I… hesitated, Night Vale. I did not scream. I did not wave a threatening object. I did not try to scare away the strangers, even though they had interrupted. I felt a sort of… kinship with them, interloping and being confused by doors and all.

I said, “hello.”

The second voice, the angry one, said, “there is a way in, I knew it.”

Carlos said, “can we help you?” A scientist is always helpful.

They seemed confused by this question, which led us to believe that they were the Taylors, the people who had rented us the cabin. Their first names, or, “Earth-names” as they called them, are Turgasso and Bammon. Bammon is the one in the suit and tie. Turgasso is the one in a dress and pearls. They _really_ wanted to come inside, which is why they’re here now.

I… suppose I should go back. And I suppose you must go back too, back to whatever lives you are living, now, so far away from where I am, perhaps so far removed from _who_ I am that you don’t even remember me.

Take care, Night Vale.

_[Static]_

So. It turns out the Taylors aren’t so bad, really. You might even say we are similar. Like Carlos, Bammon is interested in _everything,_ so long as it’s scientific, of course. Like me, Turgasso enjoys soft cloth funnels, and knows better than to talk about things she shouldn’t. I can’t talk about angels and clouds, Turgasso can’t talk about a store. Same thing, right? Turgasso also sometimes forgets she’s not a space alien, but I mean, that happens to everybody at one part of their lives or another.

Anyway— wait. That was a knock at the door. This seems to be a day for visitors. The Taylors look nervous. Carlos is going to open the door and— oh. It’s a man. A man in a grey flannel shirt, and he’s with a woman in a black body suit. They’re introducing themselves— Rudolph Yaber and his wife Pammy. They’re lost and— oh. Oh! Pammy is coming over to talk to _me._ She’s slinking along the floor, sniffing the air like some kind of… forest animal. Or maybe multiple forest animals.

Hello, Pammy.

_“Rowr.”_

Uh, I’m in the middle of recording community radio. Would you like to say anything to my town?

_“Always agree.”_

All right then. Go ahead.

_“Rowr.”_

_[Muffled noises]_

Hey! Stop that! Listeners, you can’t see this, but Pammy started licking the microphone.

_“Mic-ro-phone.”_

No. If you want to go licking, you have to ask first. Even the gibbering horror I interviewed last week knew that. Then I can put on the microphone’s lick guards and— Okay, you know what? I’m just going to put this away.

_[Static]_

So it turns out that my tendency to overestimate how much food to make came in handy tonight. I’d just been thinking “oh, I’ll make a big meal, and maybe Carlos will be full and sleepy afterwards so we can cuddle before he goes back to his science.” But _instead,_ everybody stayed over for dinner, and boy were they hungry! Pammy, Turgasso, and Bammon dove right in, coating their faces with mashed potatoes in a primal, ravenous display, as though they were deadly hunters and the wheat-and-byproduct-free chicken and gravy were desperate, struggling prey. I mean, I waited to give thanks to the **Brownstone Spire** , at least. Carlos says it’s probably just regional differences.

Speaking of which, there is a ritualistic chant in this part of the world. You go “tip tip tip tip tip” before drinking out of a glass. I’m not sure which god or government agency that’s supposed to appease, but I know the importance of playing along when there are gods or government agencies involved. I got the hang of it pretty quickly, and so did Carlos. Scientists are very adaptable.

Now I’m just cleaning up and— is that _another_ knock at the door? Bammon thinks it could be a mutant. Brave, wonderful Carlos is going to answer it, and I’m going to—

_[Door opening]_

_“Howdy Folks, I’m Ranger Brad.”_

Listeners, I have never seen a _ranger_ before. I think they’re sort of like secret police? But for the forest. I hope we didn’t do anything wrong…

_“Cecil, it’s alright. Come say hi.”_

Okay, Carlos. Uh. Hello Ranger Brad. Would you care to take a seat?

_“I don’t mind sitting, sometimes.”_

_[Shuffling noises]_

_“Listen, I don’t want to frighten you folks, but a farmer nearby was horribly mutilated.”_

Oh dear. Is that the farmer that gave us directions?

_Might have been. I’m a ranger, I wouldn’t know much about directions. Still, I thought I should tell other folks, folks like yourselves, so that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t be horribly mutilated too.”_

Well, I mean, a horrible mutilation is usually just around the corner, right? Nothing in this world is ever safe.

_“No, but, well, we take our horrible mutilations seriously in these parts.”_

I completely understand. I know of one place where they take horrible mutilations lightly, and _eugh._ Awful.

“ _Now look. I don’t mean to throw a damper on your evening. Believe me that’s the last thing I’d like to throw. I don’t want to throw… anything at all, really. But you folks should probably stay inside, keep out of trouble. We wouldn’t want you to get horribly mutilated too.”_

_“I wouldn’t say you’ve thrown a damper, actually. Scientifically speaking, this talk of horrible mutilations has just put us a little on edge.”_

_“Of course, Carlos. This horrible mutilation has a whole lot of people on a whole lot of edges.”_

So, Ranger Brad, do you have any idea what might have caused this… horrible mutilation?

_“Oh, probably nothing to worry about. Could be a bear, I suppose.”_

Oh. Yes, I’ve heard bears can be vicious and deadly. Those venomous fangs. Their love of chainsaws.

_“Yep. Well, I’ve got to go. Ranger business. It was nice meeting you folks. Carlos, Cecil, Dr. Flem— I mean Rudolph Yaber and Pammy. The younger Taylors. Good night!”_

_[Door closing]_

See Carlos? _This_ is why the woods are so dangerous. That ranger had to come here in person; there’s not even a community radio station to spread the word about horrible mutilations.

_“I think he’ll be okay. If forest rangers are anything like scientists, than he’s always prepared. Just like I’m always prepared. So if anything tries to horribly mutilate us, we’ll be fine.”_

Oh, Carlos. You always know the right thing to say.

_[A distant scream]_

What was that?

_“That sounded like an Earth-scream.”_

Turgasso, what do you mean, “Earth-scream”?

_“It’s too late. There’s nothing we can do for him now.”_

Bammon? Do you… know something?

_“No, Cecil. I know only what my ears tell me, and what my eyes see me.”_

Night Vale… I fear that Ranger Brad has just been horribly mutilated. I fear that the Taylors know more than they’re saying, Something about a mutant, maybe? Now Pammy and Rudolph Yaber are speaking to some force I cannot see. Some, “skinny bony jackass” who wants a terrarium or something.

And I have this… this _feeling._ Something I can’t quite put my finger on, or see, or touch, or feel, but… something I can’t quite see, or touch, or feel, or put my finger on.

All of a sudden there are these messages, in my head, like the kind from Station Management, or the Night Vale Tourism Board. They’re about… Carlos’s science. I’m supposed to bring the meteor to… somewhere, it’s unclear… Oh, telepathic mind control at last, _what_ a relief. You know, it’s been so long that I’ve almost forgotten, um…

Um, but, there’s a skull, smiling at me. And something… alien, like another brain inside my own head, I… I…

_“Cecil. Are you okay?”_

**I must make a skeleton meatier using… a crowbar covered in lettuce.**

_“Cecil, that doesn’t make any sense. Where are you going? What are you doing with the meteor?”_

**What I should’ve done a long time ago, Carlos.**

_“Here, let me take that. Let’s get you to the bed, and—_

**Take you to:**

**“** _Cecil? Cecil! Cecil!”_

[ _…_ **The Weather.** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qkPVztfPIsU)

_[Static]_

_“Hi Night Vale. It’s me, Carlos. I’m not sure what’s wrong with Cecil. It’s like he was possessed by something, which is ironic because I’d been hoping this trip would be a nice vacation from all of that. But he’s resting now, and I’m studying the meteor, hoping to get to the bottom of things._

_My current scientific theory is that one or more creatures were using mind control to get Cecil to give them the Atmospherium. That, or the time in the woods hasn’t been good for him. Or he’s expressing some hidden resentment towards my scientific work. I know I get wrapped up in my work. I do. But I brought him with me to try and balance that. Maybe I haven’t been doing a very good job._

_Anyway, I think the Yabers and the Taylors are both involved somehow. They’ve been behaving… well, normally. Cecil’s actually started to make friends. Except normal for Night Vale is not what I’d expect from the rest of the world._

_I think this Atmospherium is the key. Everyone seems to want it, and for reasons that don’t seem very scientific. And after what Cecil said about a skull, there might be some type of skeleton involved too._

_Oh well._

_I’m going to take the meteor and see what happens if I add water… Oh! Hi Pammy. I didn’t hear you come in. Actually, can you come back later? I’m in the middle of some important science and… where is that music coming from? Is that the Weather?_

_[Music]_

_What are you doing? That’s really distracting._

_Cecil, if you’re listening to this, Pammy— or maybe her name is Animala? She definitely said Animala— Is dancing. And it’s more than just dancing… I understand what you said earlier about “brains” and “head”. I’m… I’m following her. I can’t dance the way she does, and I’m not done with the meteor, and I don’t want to go, but I_ need _to follow, she’s… Cecil…_

_[Music and movement fades into the distance]_

_[Static]_

_[The click of unused radio equipment shutting itself off]_

Today’s proverb: In my day, I’ve seen bears do things even a bear wouldn’t do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The next chapter is merely a click away.
> 
> Or you can come scream at me on tumblr, where I am @dwarven-beard-spores.
> 
> This chapter's weather was "House of Mercy" by Sarah Jarosz.


	2. Lost Skeleton Part B

****“The universe is a very large place.”

Welcome… to the forest

_[Static]_

Listeners, I hope you were listening to my earlier broadcast, because the events of the past two days are far from complete, and I don’t have time for a recap.

Carlos is gone. He took the Atmospherium and disappeared, but I know where. That skull that appeared in my mind last night; I _know_ who it was. That was the Lost Skeleton of Cadavra himself, manifesting in my mind, demanding that I bring him Carlos’s meteor. There was something else too, another presence, but it must be the Skeleton that has Carlos.

I’m walking through the woods now. Alone. Foliage grasps at my knees, strange insects buzz around my head. A scientist is always prepared but I am _not_ a scientist. All my instincts tell me to do the reasonable thing and cower in the safest corners of the cabin. But I will not let the Skeleton have Carlos.

I would ask you to phone in with advice for surviving in a forest, Listeners, but I have no phone and there wouldn’t be signal out here anyway.

Wait. Something’s coming. I hear it in the underbrush. It’s large and… what was it Ranger Brad and Bammon were talking about last night? Mutilate? Mutant? That must be what this is. A _mutant,_ bent on horrible mutilation. A mutant that kills for kicks.

I see.. a large form. Hands that are not hands, a body, covered in what looks like vines, lumpy and scaly and more like a large rubber suit than a living creature. And three, huge, terrible eyes. Oh, those _eyes…_

It’s coming towards me, arms outstretched. I can’t fight, I can’t flee, I can only stare into those endless, piercing… AAAAAAAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH!

_[Thump]_

_[Static]_

Oh… Night Vale… I am alive! I have not been horribly mutilated by the mutant, or… by anything at all.

I remember: screaming. I remember I fainted. And the next thing I knew, the mutant was carrying me. Like I was a small child. It looked at me with those eyes, those _ugly_ eyes. They stared deep, deeper than anyone ever has, with a kind of understanding that frightened me to my very soul.

I went from being alone and out of place, lost in fear and woodland, to being more known than I have ever truly felt. And by a mutant, no less. Really makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

Oh well.

Thankfully, even unconscious in terror I know better than to abandon my Portable Radio Broadcasting Kit, and I can still report to you now. But the best news of all is that the mutant brought me to Carlos! Carlos is here and alive and _perfect._ Carlos said that Pammy Yaber— who is actually called _Animala?_ — hypnotized him into giving over the meteor by dancing. Do you want to tell the listeners what happened, Carlos?

_“Well, I already told you.”_

And I’d _love_ to hear it again.

_“Okay. Animala was working for the man we thought was her husband, Rudolph Yaber. It turns out that his name is really Dr. Roger Fleming, and they’re not really married. Animala is part woman, part four different forest animals, and didn’t exist in her current form before yesterday afternoon.”_

That’s so fascinating!

_“It is. But what I don’t understand is how Dr. Fleming— a scientist!— could turn evil. Science is not evil. A good scientist just wants to understand the world around them, not rule it. But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?”_

A little bit, yeah.

_“Sorry. Anyway, Animala and Dr. Fleming want the Atmospherium to… resurrect the skeleton? I’m not sure. They weren’t very clear. And rather than try and share, or even buy it, they decided to steal it for themselves.”_

It must be the Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. I know we didn’t hear much about the legends associated…

 _“Yeah, the farmer pretty much just said the name and laughed._ ”

But it was a very meaningful laugh.

 _“Whatever skeleton it is, it’s supposed to help Dr. Fleming take over the world. We need to get that Atmospherium back. To save the world, to advance science,_ and _to help our new alien friends, Kro-bar and Lattis, return home.”_

That’s right! Listeners, Turgasso and Bammon are actually Lattis and Kro-bar. And they’re aliens. And not, may I add, those people who everyone is pretty sure are aliens but who never admit to it, so you never bring it up because it’s really awkward, but they literally have a picture of Neptune that says “home sweet home” in their living room… These are actual, honest aliens.

I’m actually in their spaceship right now! It’s a big, shiny cylinder that crash-landed upright in a clearing. Inside there are a few things which are almost like chairs, one of which I’m sitting on. Oh, and you know those, like, pegboards you sometimes see in people’s garages, where people hang tools or shelves or scientific equipment? That is _nothing_ like the very high-tech, futuristic interior of this spaceship. Not at _all._

Say Lattis, can you tell me a little bit about what you and Bammon— I mean Kro-bar— have been doing here?

_“Oh. Certainly. My husband Kro-bar and I were returning home to our planet, Marva, which is a planet very different from your Earth, as you call it. Even now this Earth feels different and strange to us. And yet there are some ways in which it seems similar, almost the same, in a way._

Marva, Earth. Earth, Marva. I think I see what you mean.

_“Unfortunately, our ship, the one we are now sitting in, crashed. Much of our equipment was damaged, and the bars on the cage which held the Mutant, which we keep as a pet to us, were bent. Now the Mutant has escaped, as you know, Cecil, because you have seen it._

Yes, I have. Say, have you ever looked into it’s eyes?

_“No, I have not.”_

Oh well. Now, I’m pretty sure you came to our cabin looking for Atmospherium, right? And you were the other voice in my head telling me to steal the meteor?

_“Yes. We saw you looked distracted, and thought to exert our Marvan Mind Power on you. You see, we need Atmospherium, an element common on Marva but rare on Earth, to power our ship. We saw you carrying the Atmospherium through the woods, and pretended to be humans so that we might find it. We used an alien device called a Transmutatron so that we would look just like you.”_

That makes complete sense. And you had some very good Normal Human Disguises, might I add. I was completely convinced!

_“Thank you.”_

So then… how did you end up back here, with Carlos, and without the Atmospherium?

_“It was the other scientist. He knew we were aliens. In fact, he used our Trasmutatron to create the one called Animala from creatures of the forest. He also knew what we wanted. He said if we helped him, we could share the Atmospherium; some for us and some for him. As though we were partners. Partners who share._

_But his version of sharing is nothing like Marvan sharing at all. As soon as Carlos appeared, the Skeleton wrapped us in ropes, which were not physical at all but mental, and we were helpless.”_

Oh, wow. That’s terrible. We’ve got to go stop him right away. Or… or maybe find the Mutant before it horribly mutilates somebody else! There’s no time to waste!

_“I completely agree. Here, come this way. Kro-bar, my husband, and I twant o show you and Carlos some Marvan sharing, specifically of food. We have plenty of fruit, called cranberroids and linbooba. Perhaps we could spend some time discussing the different customs of Earth and Marva, which are most certainly different, but perhaps, in some ways, not so different at all._

Why that sounds lovely. Listeners, I’ll be back later!

_[Static]_

Here is what happened in the forest.

Carlos and I… ate. We talked, with the aliens. Before crashing on our planet, Earth, they thought, quite unfairly, that we were foul and dirty creatures, like the sand worms that live, always, just below our feet. When we first met, I, completely reasonably, thought they were interrupters and interlopers. But it turns that we were both wrong. With a heavy dose of suspicion and scientific inquiry shared between us, we discovered that we could almost be… friends. I don’t think I’ve ever made friends so quickly. (Except for Carlos who I fell in love with instantly, but that’s entirely different.)

After we ate, nobody had to clean up, because Lattis says they gave up messes eons ago. I’m not sure what happened to all our dishes? Like, in Night Vale, half the time the dishes will be taken and, presumably, eaten by the hooded figures, but there are no hooded figures here or on Marva. I wonder.

Oh well.

After eating, the four of us trekked into the forest. Carlos and his Atmospherium Detector led the way as we searched, as a group, for the lost meteor and the even-more-lost Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. Our mission soon appeared hopeless when a voice, a terrible voice as deep as the cave it came from, spoke in all our minds.

 ** _I HAVE RISEN!_ ** it said.

There can be no doubt that this is the voice of the Skeleton, brought to life with Carlos’s meteor. This was confirmed a moment later, when the same voice said: **_LOOK AT THIS. I’M STANDING. HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A SKELETON STAND? I BET YOU HAVEN’T._**

Before we could even begin to comprehend what this might mean for our alien friends, or for the entirety of science itself, Carlos’s machine began to click and whistle. Then, through the trees, I once again saw the Mutant.

It approached our little and vulnerable group. In particular, it approached Carlos.

Night Vale. If ever I missed you, if ever I wanted to call upon your violent and reactionary community spirit, it was then. The Mutant raised its hands-that-were-not-hands and struck Carlos a blow to the side of the head that sent him sprawling. Kro-bar tried to fire his alien Transmutatron, which would transmute the Mutant into something harmless, but it did not work. Dr. Fleming’s irresponsible use of alien technology _must_ be to blame. That, or dirt.

With nothing else to be done, I shouted “No!” and stepped forward. “That’s not— arrghh!” You know, I always expected I’d be a little more eloquent when I inevitably saved Carlos from being killed by a Mutant, but it all happened so _fast_.

I kept yelling and waving my arms and, for some reason… it worked. The Mutant stared at me again, a little less deeply than before, and then it blinked sadly and lumbered away. Maybe it understood the depth of my love for Carlos. Maybe that’s why it had come after Carlos in the first place. I wonder…

Carlos said it seemed to like me, and I was like “do you mean it _likes_ me, or it _like-_ likes me,” and Carlos said he didn’t know, because he was a scientist, and feelings aren’t very scientific. Oh well.

Anyway, we’re back in the cabin, and Carlos is resting. Or… actually he’s right here.

_“Cecil? We’ve got to go.”_

But you’re supposed to be taking it easy until dinner. I’m making Tapioca.

_“I know. But in all the excitement, we forgot something very important. We forgot that the Lost Skeleton is still out there. I have a hunch, and it’s not very scientific, but if I’m right, Kro-bar and Lattis are in terrible danger. We need to make sure.”_

Listeners, I’ve got to go.

_[Static]_

Forgive my whispering, Night Vale. Carlos was right. We returned to the site of Lattis and Kro-bar’s spaceship. Dr. Fleming, Animala, and the Lost Skeleton himself have found our new alien friends. They have erected a throne for the bony monarch to sit on, like a wooden chair but more evil. From there he gestures and casts judgement, grinning the way only a skull can grin. Hidden in the bushes, Carlos and I can see him, even now.

There, in his chest cavity, tucked safely between ribs and spine, is the meteor. This Skeleton has been given life, a terrible, evil life, by the very element that is so important to Carlos’s science. Carlos is not taking this well. He keeps putting his head in his hands and muttering about scientific responsibility and squandered knowledge. I… don’t know how to help him.

And meanwhile, what of our friends? Oh, Listeners! Using his telepathic control and unending sadism, the Lost Skeleton is making Kro-bar and Lattis _dance._

This dance is not the seductive beckoning of Animala, it is not the richly communicative language of interpretive dance so common in Night Vale, it is not the gentle intimacy of a waltz or the riotous fun of the cha-cha slide. This dance is a terrible twisting of everything aliens stand for, an unraveling of their very otherworldly beings.

Kro-bar put it best, a few moments ago, words forced through gritted teeth. _“You can’t make aliens dance._ ” And yet, this… this _skeleton_ can.

I can’t watch. Carlos cannot _not_ watch. Listeners, this may not do you any good since atmospheric conditions between here and Night Vale are so different, but this— this _dance_ — is so abominable that I can’t do anything but take you to:

[The Weather.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acMqxcdxE0E)

_[Static]_

So. The good news is that the sudden onset of Weather distracted the Skeleton, and Kro-bar and Lattis are have been freed from their dance. The bad news is that it wasn’t severe enough to make the Skeleton rethink his ultimate plan of… killing Kro-bar and forcing Lattis to marry him?

_“Cecil. We need to do something.”_

What does science say?

 _“Unfortunately… very little. As a concept and a justification, science has already been twisted beyond recognition by Dr.— by_ Mister _Fleming. I want to help, but I don’t know enough about how Atmospherium works to figure out how to stop it from powering the skeleton. I’m afraid that even science can’t help us now.”_

Well… to stop the wedding, we need to stop the Skeleton’s telepathic mind control. And I mean, I know mind control. It’s usually just one of those things that happens and you live with it, get controlled for a while, then blink into an unfamiliar time of day with unfamiliar soil on your hands. But, if you _really_ want to stop it, you have to distract whoever’s doing the controlling. Break their concentration.

_“Hmm. Well, scientifically speaking, there is no better way to stop a wedding than by starting a fight of titanic proportions between a skeleton and a mutant from outer space.”_

You mean bring the Mutant here?

_“I think it would work. We could use the Atmospherium Detector to find it. But I don’t know enough about the Mutant to know how to lead it anywhere.”_

Hmmmm. I think I have an idea. You said the Mutant like-liked me, right?

_“I thought so, but I can’t be sure. Maybe?”_

Okay, but if it _did,_ then… once we find it, maybe I could get it to follow me. Through the forest and right up to the Skeleton.

_“That sounds dangerous, Cecil.”_

Well… I mean… yes? But the Mutant _probably_ won’t horribly mutilate me. Or you. Or Kro-bar and Lattis. And it _probably_ won’t decide to make friends with the Lost Skeleton and take over the world. Soooooo…

_“I don’t know, Cecil. I love you. And I wish I had a scientific way to solve this problem and keep you safe.”_

I know. I love you too. But, as the old saying goes: if I wanted a safe life, I wouldn’t be dating a man who studies rocks. I’ll be okay, Carlos. Trust me.

_“I do.”_

This _will_ work. I’ll just— Oh, wait. There goes the Atmospherium detector. It must be the Mutant. Carlos, do I look seductive? Should I, like, pose? Rip open my collar or something?

_[Static]_

Night Vale. Night Vale! The plan worked like a dream. I’m now cowering as two of the most terrifying creatures in this entire forest battle for dominance in a low-budget and brutal armageddon. Before I get to a play-by-play of the action, let me fill you in on how it all went down.

_[In the background, a scuffle]_

The Mutant followed me. I don’t know if it was really _seduced,_ but at least it was interested. Which, huh! You know I never really thought of myself as the femme fatale type, but… I guess the desire to prevent your new alien friend from becoming a widow and married to a skeleton reveals new depths in people.

We arrived at the wedding just as Lattis, her anguish hidden under a cheaply made skeleton mask, approached the Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. Dr. Fleming and Animala stood by, their faces contorted gruesomely in glee. Kro-bar himself could not resist the skeletal influence compelling him to present the bride.

Shouting our indignation, Carlos and I disrupted the scene. Neither of us are any good at fighting, but we are good at running around and making a lot of noise, so we did that. Animala leaped into a tree and began hissing at us, but now I think she’s curled up and taking a nap. Kro-bar and Lattis, freed from the Skeleton’s psychic powers, assisted us in running around screaming. I wasn’t watching, but I think the Skeleton killed Dr. Fleming. He’s lying on the ground near the Skeleton’s throne, not moving, not breathing, and there is no sign of foul play besides the bruises in the shape of skeletal hands around his neck.

Then the Mutant arrived and, like an actor recognizing his rival for top billing in a production, immediately turned its hostile attentions on the Skeleton. Its bulk and capacity for horrible mutilation make it a strong contender for the title, but the Skeleton is smaller and faster and, well, there’s not much of him to mutilate, so… there goes that strategy.

In a surprising turn of events, the Skeleton immediately chose to grapple the Mutant. Perhaps he hopes that close combat is the way to avoid the Mutant’s admittedly longer reach but… well, there he is. Clinging to the Mutant’s hideous body, grabbing and smacking with evil, bony limbs.

Oh, it’s horrible! I— I can’t watch! Crouched in the bushes, Carlos, Kro-bar, Lattis, and I await the outcome with bated breath. _Oh—_ oh, I don’t do well with gore. Ugh. I really wish I hadn’t already gone to the weather today.

Okay. Okay. Carlos is right. Since I’m not exactly on a broadcast schedule, or, well, I can’t tell if I am or not, I’m just going to turn this off for a while. Come back when it’s all over.

Augh! Now he’s going for the—

_[Static]_

Here we are, Listeners. Men, women, others. Here we are at the end of a battle, at the end of a story, at the end of several lives.

The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, briefly found, is once again lost. During the struggle, the Mutant dragged it’s bony adversary to a cliff. It’s mutant brain impervious to the Skeleton’s mind control, it gave a final, triumphant roar, and hurled the Skeleton down into the valley below. We all felt, in our ears and our minds, the Skeleton’s anguished screams… and before that, with a conviction that set my spine on edge, the Skeleton’s promise: **_I WILL RETURN._**

The… the bones are now scattered at the bottom of the cliff and— we can see its enticing glow even from here— the Atmospherium is now free from the Skeleton’s ribcage, seemingly undamaged. I suppose a meteor that survived a fall from the void of space can handle something as innocuous as a cliff.

The Mutant, also, is dead. I’m not sure which skeletal attack did it in, but after hurling its foe to his doom, the Mutant just… fell over and died. I went to it, Night Vale. I offered it a comforting hand but, in the end, there was nothing I could do.

The Mutant reminded me of all of you. Of City Council and Station Management, of the things that lurk in dark corners and huddle in the empty lot out back of the Ralph’s. Of ordinary citizens. People and creatures with knowing eyes that understand more than anyone expects, who never mean to kill but who simply don’t know not to. Maybe that’s why the Mutant felt drawn to me; because I, instinctively, felt drawn to it. What would it have said if we’d found some way to communicate? Hm. I wonder.

Oh well.

Anyway, while I’ve been talking, Kro-bar used his alien Transmutatron to turn Animala back into four forest animals. I think that’s two ferrets, a mouse, and… oh, that last one is gone already. Bye! Bye animals!

So this is us. Me and Carlos and our alien friends Lattis and Kro-bar. Standing, together, in a forest that is not and can never be home. In a forest where we are all interlopers. In between science gone wrong and science gone right. And yet, as we stare into the middle distance, we feel a sense of belonging. The shared experience of having survived another day, narrowly, and not without loss, but survived nonetheless.

_“And no one who did not desire it was married to another, more evil being who did desire it. In fact, no one who does not desire it is any longer pretending to be that which they are not, for any reason, even for the possession of Atmospherium.”_

You know Lattis, you’re right. And Kro-bar, you seem on the verge of an epiphany.

 _“I was just thinking, Cecil. It’s funny, but when the kind of understanding that the four of us have have over a little piece of rock_ _spreads throughout the universe, then and only then will there be understanding amongst all peoples, alien and alike, in all kinds of places at the same time._ ”

Huh. I was going to say that it is impossible to understand anything. That those closest to us are alien, and we are alien to ourselves. But that the _attempt_ to understand, futile though it may be, might be the only thing that makes us feel less like intruders in this cold and uncaring universe.

_“Ah. Well then.”_

But I mean, your way is good too. Oh, Carlos!

_“Cecil! I’m so proud of you.”_

Carlos. I thought you were going to collect the meteor.

_“I am. But I just wanted to talk to you first. This whole adventure has made me think differently about myself, about my work, and about what we’re doing here. I am really excited to study the Atmospherium. I can’t wait. Except, scientifically, I can wait. Once we’ve found it, I can store it and bring it back to Night Vale.”_

So we’re going back soon?

_“We are. But first, you need to help me learn to appreciate that cabin.”_

Oh, I will Carlos, I will!

 _“I’m glad._ Now _I’m going to collect the meteor. Cecil, Kro-bar, Lattis, do you want to come with?”_

We certainly do. Just… give me one moment.

Night Vale. Listeners. _You._ The day has been saved, the problem has been solved, at least for the time being. This is, at last, the end.

Or… is it? Isn’t it more like a kind of beginning, in a way? Like a new beginning for everyone? Hm, I wonder.

Oh well.

I will see you soon, and until then:

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

Today’s Proverb: “Aliens? Us? Is this one of your Earth jokes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please do leave me a like or a comment. The only other Lost Skeleton fans I know are the ones I created.
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr as @dwarven-beard-spores.
> 
> This chapter's weather was "Uranium Fever" by Elton Britt.


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